


in love with you(r voice)

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Dark, F/M, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Strand, Voice Kink, dark!strand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He won’t admit it, even under the most severe of drunken states, but he always liked Alex Reagan’s voice.</p><p>Edited: 7-24-16</p>
            </blockquote>





	in love with you(r voice)

The technology Strand has collected over the years never fails to amaze him. What is even more astounding is the fact the pure, almost giddy delight of seeing something new every year never wears off for him. 

Despite the stereotypical old man jokes his few friends and colleagues attribute to him, he does try his best to keep up. He isn’t the kind to  go out every year to buy a new phone. Even he has limits, especially when it comes to time and his money. But every time he gets word of something new on the market, one can safely bet right down to the minute when he will start researching: what it is, the company making it, when it will be available to the public, and how much it’s going to cost. 

It’s the details, the little things that make something work, that fascinate him. He wasn’t the kid that cracked open alarm clocks and other machinery to see how they worked, but he did read the manuals and study the diagrams. 

Perhaps his favorite piece of technology of all –second behind his laptop – is his IPod. He would’ve killed to have it growing up, to have all of his favorite songs and musicians at hand without having to change records, stay up late recording songs from the radio on cassette tapes, or carrying dozens of CDs in a case. Every song is at his will with a single touch. Not to mention his favorite voice.

He won’t admit it, even under the most severe of drunken states, but he always liked Alex Reagan’s voice. Though ‘like’ is too casual a word to describe his feelings, he thinks one late while he’s reading, perhaps ‘found of’ or ‘delighted by’. But in the end, after many hours and false leads, he’s left knowing that no matter the word or how strong it is, they’re all too shallow to capture the sheer joy and pleasure he feels when she speaks. Especially to him.

He turns a page. The book is about psychology, something about addiction he believes. The paper is brittle and the cover has seen better days. The words blend together as he focuses more on his thoughts. 

He doesn’t know exactly what makes her voice so enthralling. Maybe it’s how she lowers her voice to a gentle, caring tone when she’s worried about him, comforting him, and sharing pleasantries or idle conversations on their way for coffee, lunch, or dinner. They haven’t had breakfast together, a pity, but he can wait.

Maybe it’s how firm and controlled it sounds when she’s dealing with someone difficult, how it strains to be polite when her patience is running thin. It’s the voice of someone that’s not afraid to lead and take action. He’s familiar with this one; it’s usually directed at him. 

Or maybe it’s when it goes soft; intimate and exposed. It usually occurs when she whispers something to him like a joke or observation meant for his ears only. It’s never been a genuine secret about her or anything personal. But again, it’s only a matter of time. 

He turns the page, the next chapter confirms his suspicions of the text’s subject. 

“Why do people becomes addicts?” the chapter says. 

“I’m not addicted,” he replies bluntly to an empty room. It’s merely a healthy fascination with one of many details that  make up the entirety of the lovely Alex Reagan: podcast host, reporter, investigator,  the believer to his skeptic. Addicts cling. He doesn’t pout when her attention on him wavers in favor of someone else, someone  _ lesser  _ than him, like that faker Tannis, her bratty interns, or her equally snoopy friend. He doesn’t get tetchy when her focus is not entirely on him. (He can tell when he’s losing her, her gaze falls to her phone or her notebook full of notes, sometimes she starts doodling, and her responses are monosyllabic.) And he absolutely  _ does not  _ have the podcast episodes on his IPod touch just for the sole purpose of listening to her voice when she isn’t around.

Said Ipod belonging to the fourth generation, retaining its manicured silver chrome shine- sits neatly on his nightstand within his reach. He taps the screen, enters the pass-code, and checks his podcast app. The notification alerts him that she posted a new episode. He smiles, he’ll listen to it in the morning. 

That’s what he likes the most of today’s technology. He can hear her voice wherever and whenever he wants at the press of a button. In the middle of the night or in the afternoon, when she’s on the other side of the hotel wall just a door away, miles apart in Seattle waiting for his morning class to start, or when she’s asleep as he drives them back and forth to their investigation sites, her voice is always at his beck and call to regale him of their prior investigations. 

Her recorded voice is just that, however, a voice telling a story he already knows the ending of. Though pleasant in all its digital glory, it’s not the same as the real thing, to have Alex herself talking to him, talking  _ for  _ him before she’s pulled away by work or her conniving coworkers. It doesn’t matter if she’s just chatting about the weather or complaining about something stupid she did in the past, laughing, screaming in fright, or that weary drawl when they’ve been on the road too long and it’s time to find a motel, so long as she’s looking at him...

His attention comes back to the book, specifically a passage that claims that people become addicts in the first place because  they’re trying to fill a void in their life. He snaps the book shut with a huff. It’s outdated, a book men older than him would keep in their office to show how "intellectual" they were, something his father would keep out of nostalgia. He’ll dispose of it in the morning. 

_ I’m not addicted _ , he assures himself as he turns off the lights off in his room. He grabs his Ipod, puts on his headphones, and going through his playlists when he finds the one plainly labeled ‘Alex’. 

He’s recorded a few of their casual conversations that don’t make it on the podcast. She doesn’t know of course. Having her know would ruin the authenticity.  If she knew, she would sound scripted and controlled, not like she was having a coffee date with him, comfortable and at ease. His favorite recordings are the ones where she drops all formalities and calls him by his first name, where she is at total, serene peace. It was awkward for her at first to stop using his title, but at his insistence, she kept at it. 

_ “Richard, did you order already? Did you give them my- oh thank you!” _

_ “How’s your day, Richard?” _

_ “Richard, please don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’m worried about you more.” _

_ I’m not addicted _ , he thinks as he lets her voice lure him to sleep. He just likes to listen to her, that all. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the voice and the person it belongs to. No shame of listening to recordings late at night in bed, wishing to hear every facet that she was capable of; rage, despair, loathing, and love. No shame of wishing that she in bed with him, pressed up against him with her arms wrapped around his body, pulling him closer to her, whispering in his ear and admitting all her little secrets, wishes, and desires. But he know he has a long way to go to make that little fantasy come to life. A few more coffee breaks, more late-night take-out shared in his office, maybe some drinks and an actual dinner at a nice restaurant, and a kiss or two or three before he expects her to join him in bed. 

_ I am a patient man _ , he thinks as he shuts off his IPod, moments before exhaustion takes him,  _ I can wait for her and my recordings can hold me over. For now... _

**Author's Note:**

> My friends at tumblr wanted a dark TBTP fanfic, and I hope this delivers! If there are any errors, ooc-ness, or just general comments, don't be afraid them leave them! Now excuse me while I wait for hell to swallow me whole for this...


End file.
